Does Six Years Matter?
by FinalFallenFantasy
Summary: Axel has a problem. He's in love with a kid six years younger than him. And he's thirteen.


**AN: **Ok, this one's been brewing for quite some time. The original was third person, but I've posted it in first, cos I think it fits better, despite my inability to write first person. If I get a lot of reviews (if I get any at all for this one) saying that my first person narrative is crappy, then I'll probably re-post it with the third-person narrative. So enjoy, endure, let the ship go down (eh, it's a song).

**Disclaimer:** Don't own nothing.

**Warning: **AU, not-quite-paedophilia and Shounen Ai (later)

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At first, when I thought about my feelings for Roxas, I felt dirty. Sullied. Unworthy. Like I was pretending to be something I wasn't, which was stupid. As he always says; I could never be anyone but me. But I still felt disgusting, like I was some kind of pervert. But not because we were both male. No, I'd gotten over that particular barrier when I was about six and kissed my first 'boyfriend'. Sure, it was just a kid's kiss, innocent and we kinda drifted apart pretty quickly, but the thought was still there. No, it was the fact that I was a thirteen year old in love with someone half my age. Roxas was seven.

It had all started two years before I realised. I was at my mother's friend's birthday party and just got bored enough to wander over to the sandpit where the little kiddies were playing. A few of them demanded piggyback rides, because, let's face it; I was the tallest freaking teenager around. Anyway, I was stupid enough to oblige. Don't get me wrong; I liked making people happy, and kids are easy to please, but their strangling little hands were a bit of a dampener. That and the fact that several of them were in dire need of a washed face after eating chocolate or some other sweet. When I finally managed to extricate myself from what must have been about the sixth kid, I decided to go back to the sandpit, which was now empty, and build a sandcastle. Don't ask me why. I just had this thing with a friend once; that if either of us could ever build a successful sandcastle by ourselves, the other would have to be a slave for all eternity or something. I forget what exactly. It's not important anyway.

I hadn't noticed the other boy at first. That little lonely blonde kid just sitting and staring. He didn't say anything, just sat there, looking at me for a while. I guess he must have been staring for a lot longer than I realized because many people have told me how notoriously oblivious to gazes I am. Anyway, I looked up at one point and saw those gorgeous blue eyes. Of course, I didn't think they were gorgeous back then; just really, really pretty. I felt this weird jolt when I met his gaze and my heart beat faster, but I put that down to the fact that I used to have asthma. Dumb, huh? Eventually I got a little unnerved by his staring and asked,

"You want a ride, too?" immediately, I tried not to laugh or roll my eyes at how that had sounded. Particularly to that little kid. He couldn't have been more than five. Turned out he was actually five and a half. But there was no disguising my relief when he just shook his head. My back was beginning to threaten me with immense pain and hatred for all time. Honestly, how can kids that small weigh that much? I smiled at him, feeling a bit confused. Why didn't he speak? When I looked back at my castle I was disappointed, if not particularly surprised, to see it crumbling even worse. I tried patting it back together, but the sand just slipped or blew in my face somehow, despite the superb lack of wind. I'm still not entirely sure why, but I decided to poke a hole through it. Off-topic slightly, one thing I am proud of is my hands. Or would that be two things? I have these really long skinny fingers and if I curl them my hand looks like a talon. Yes, that is a good thing I think. It's fun. But back to my story. As my magnificent (not) castle set about returning to its original state, a much smaller pair of hands began shaping it and smoothing it back into a vague form. I just stared for a moment (I think my mind may have gone to sleep because I wasn't even curious as to who it was at first). Eventually, I shook my head and glanced up to see that same blonde kid carefully moulding the damp heap back into shape. For some reason I found that funny; that this little kid could actually get the sand to obey him when I couldn't even make a bucket-mould of sand stay within its outline. "How come you're so good at that and I can't do it for crap? I mean, er… toffee." I winced; remembering my mother's strict instruction 'No swearing in front of the children. They're too young to be corrupted by your influence'. The boy glanced at me strangely and smiled. I remember thinking for the first time that he was the perfect definition of a fledgling angel; too old and skinny to be a cherub but too young and adorable to be a full-grown angel. I still think that, though now he's the angel rather than the fledgling or cherub. He shrugged and returned to creating a sandcastle. "So, um… what's your name?" I asked, though I wasn't sure why I was attempting small talk with a child less than half my age. He didn't even glance in my direction this time, which was kind of awkward. I cleared my throat awkwardly and felt it was probably time to make myself scarce for a while. "Um… You want a drink?" I asked, feeling stupid. Something about him made me feel like I was intruding, even though he'd been the one to approach me really. He shrugged and paused before glancing at me and nodding, smiling faintly and returning to his architecture. _Fair enough…_ "Ok… I'll, um, be right back…" I stood and brushed the sand off my trousers, stumbling over the edge of the sandpit as I left. I was still at the horrible stage of growth when you realise a little too late that your legs are longer than they used to be and you're already hurtling towards the ground.

I made my way over the plastic bottles of drinks lined up on one of the tables and poured out two plastic cups of coke.

"Who's the second one for, darling?" one of my mother's friends asked. I wasn't sure but I thought her name was Beryl. Turns out it was actually Daisy.

"Oh, there's a blonde kid in the sandbox who wanted a drink. He's that one building a sandcastle." I pointed as best I could around the plastic cup I was holding.

"Oh yes, that's my son, Roxas." She smiled. "Make sure he doesn't start being mean."

"Huh?" I was bemused by the thought of such an angelic-looking little kid ever being unpleasant.

"He has a bit of a temper. If he throws a tantrum, just come find me." I nodded uncertainly.

"Um… does he ever talk? It's just he hasn't said anything the whole time. All the other kids are constantly shouting, but he's just… not."

"Well…" she looked awkwardly at her feet before meeting my eyes again. "Let's just say he's incredibly shy." Now where had I heard that phrase before.

"He's getting bullied?" I blurted, immediately biting my lip. "Sorry…"

"No, no, don't worry." She laughed falsely. "Well, he used to be a lot more talkative but when he started primary school… he won't say anything, of course, but I get the feeling that there are a few older kids picking on him. I've talked to the teachers but they can't seem to find out what's wrong."

"D'you want me to talk to him?" I offered. "It's sometimes easier to talk to another kid. Even if they are more than twice your age…" I smiled and she chuckled softly, sounding sad.

"If you want to, but don't expect any miracles. He's never been all that at home with strangers." I made my way back over to where Roxas was still sitting and handed him his drink.

"Thar ya go." At first it felt kind of tense, us both just sitting there with nothing to say, but later I realised that that was just normal for Roxas. He wouldn't speak unless he had something to say. And still only rarely then. Eventually I built up enough courage to try again (I felt pathetic about that; honestly, who would need courage to talk to a five year old?) "You don't talk much, do you?" he shook his head, which made me chuckle. At first he glared at me but I guess he must have realised that I wasn't laughing at _him_, because he smiled sheepishly and joined in. It wasn't even all that funny, but soon we were both rolling around, giggling uncontrollably. Yes, you heard. Giggling. A five year old has an excuse, but I was eleven and still giggled like a six year old girl. A fact I am not proud of but it is true. If something tickles me pink enough I'll start sniggering like an adolescent female on pocky.

After a few more hours of basically me talking and sometimes asking unanswered questions, my mom came up and told me it was time to go home. I stood up and sighed, feeling a little disappointed that I hadn't been able to get him to open up more. But then, I supposed, getting him to laugh along with me at points was pretty good.

"See you round, Roxas." I leaned down and wrapped an arm around his shoulders before straightening to leave with my mother.

"See you Axel…" I blinked and turned to stare at him. Never once had he spoken during our entire afternoon. He shrank back a little, looking shy and I felt so indescribably happy for some reason. I grinned and waved.

"Make it soon, then." His answering smile was so adorably innocent and nervous I wanted to run back and hug him, but I knew I'd come across as creepy and patronising, so I didn't. I did wink, though. When we turned past the gazebos outside towards where we were parked, Roxas' mom came up to us.

"Thanks, Axel. I saw him laughing with you. He hasn't laughed in… well, too long. And he actually spoke to me. He said he 'liked Axel; he was kind'. So thank you." I felt torn between being happy about his talking and forlorn about probably not seeing him again, so I asked the question that changed my life.

"Maybe we could all meet up again sometime?"

"That would be nice." She smiled. "And I found out today you go to the same school." I stopped and stared at her. How had I never noticed him? Eyes that blue were hard to miss. _At least it's still the start of school…_

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**AN: **This is-SPARTAAAAAAA- Ahem, sorry… This is kinda weird, I know and it's my first 'first person past tense' fanfic attempt, cos I've always found it difficult to stick to that structure. So, tell me what you think. If it's utterly terrible I'll repost with the third-person version which was one hell of a lot easier to do. And children _do_ sometimes just stop talking when they're bullied. I didn't; I just kept running around yelling like I always did, cos the word 'embarrassment' literally means nothing to me. Flames are accepted but may get doused with orange juice. Or vinegar. I wouldn't want to waste my delicious OJ on dousing things.


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